it too.
There was something I needed to do right now, while I was in the mood. I drove out to the Mercedes dealership and found the salesperson Laurie Berger. I took a test drive in the R350, and all that leg room was even more fun on the open highway than it had been in the showroom. I liked the vehicle's zip and also the dual-dash zone climate control, which would keep everybody happy, even Nana Mama.
But even more important, it was time for the family and me to move away from Maria's old car. It was time, I had money from my books in savings, and so I bought the R350 and felt wonderful about it.
When I got home, I found a note from Nana on the kitchen table. It was meant for Jannie and Damon, but I read it anyway.
Go out and get some fresh air, you two. There's coq au vin in the Crock-Pot. Delicious! Set the table for me, please. And get a start on your homework before dinner. Damon has choir tonight. Remember to 'support your breath,'young man. Aunt Tia and I have taken Ali to the zoo, and WE'RE LOVING IT.
Your Nana isn't here, but I'm watching you anyway!
I couldn't help smiling. This woman had saved me a long time ago, and now she was saving my kids.
I'd been hoping to hang out with Ali, but there would be plenty of time for that in the near future. So I fixed myself a leftover pork and coleslaw sandwich, and then for some strange reason I made popcorn for one.
Why? Why not! I don't even like popcorn that much, but suddenly I was in the mood for some hot, buttered junk food. Free to be me; free to be stupid if I wanted to.
I ate the freshly popped popcorn and played the piano for a couple of hours that afternoon – Duke Ellington, Jelly Roll Morton, Al Green. I read several chapters from a book called The Shadow of the Wind. And then I did the truly unthinkable – I took a nap in the middle of the day. Before I drifted off, I thought about Maria again, the best of times, our honeymoon at Sandy Lane in Barbados. What a blast that had been. How much I still missed her and wished she was here right now to hear my news.
For the rest of the afternoon, the phone never rang once. I didn't have a pager anymore, and in the words of Nana Mama – I was loving it.
Nana and Ali came home together, then came Jannie, and finally Damon. Their staggered arrivals gave me the chance to show off our new car three times, and to get their praise and applause three times. What a fine, fine day this was turning out to be.
That night at dinner we chowed down on Nana's delicious Frenchified chicken, and I kept the big news to myself until the end of the meal – pumpkin ice cream and cafe au lait.
Jannie and Damon wanted to eat and run, but I kept everybody sitting at the table. Jannie wanted to get back to her book. She was tripping out on Eragon these days, which was okay, I guess, but I didn't understand why it is that kids have to read the same book half a dozen times.
'What now?' she rolled her eyes and asked, as though she already knew the answer.
'I have some news,' I said to her, and to everybody else.
The kids looked at one another, and Jannie and Damon shared a frown and a head shake. They all thought they knew what was coming next – that I was leaving town on a new murder investigation, probably a serial. Maybe even tonight, just like I always did.
'I'm not going anywhere,' I said, and grinned broadly. 'Quite the opposite actually. In fact, I'm going to attend Damon's choir practice tonight. I want to listen to that joyful noise. I want to see how well he supports his breath these days.'
'You're going to choir practice?' Damon exclaimed. 'What, is there some killer in our singing group?'
I was purposely stretching it out some, my eyes methodically going from face to face. I could tell that none of them had a clue what was coming next. Not even our crafty, know-it-all Nana had figured it out yet.
Jannie finally looked down at Ali. 'Make him tell us what's going on, Ali. Make him talk.'
'C'mon, Daddy,' said the little man, who was already a skillful manipulator. 'Tell us. Before Janelle goes crazy.'
'All right, all right, all right. Here's the deal. I'm afraid I have to tell you that I'm now unemployed, and that we're practically destitute. Well, not really. Anyway, this morning I resigned from the FBI. For the rest of the day I did nothing. Tonight, it's the rehearsal of 'Cantante Domino' for me.'
Nana Mama and the kids went wild with applause. 'Destitute! Des-ti-tute!' the kids began to chant.
And you know what? It had a nice ring to it.
So did no more monsters.
Chapter 36
THE NEXT BEAT in the story went like this. John Sampson was a star in the Washington PD these days. Ever since Alex left the department and moved over to the FBI, Sampson's reputation had been rising, not that it hadn't been on a high level before, not that Sampson didn't get a lot of respect for all sorts of reasons. The curious thing, though, was that Sampson couldn't have given a rat's ass. Peer approval had never meant much of anything to the Big Man. Unless maybe it was Alex's, and even that was a hit-and-miss thing.
His latest case was definitely a challenge. Maybe because he hated the bad actor he was trying to bring down. The scum in question, Gino 'Greaseball' Giametti, operated strip joints and massage parlors as far south as Fort Lauderdale and Miami. His 'sideline' was catering to pervs who needed adolescent girls, sometimes prepubescent ones. Giametti himself was obsessed with the so-called Lolita complex.
' Capo,' Sampson muttered under his breath as he drove up Giametti's street in the ritzy Kalorama section of DC. The self-important term referred to capitano, a captain in the Mafia. Gino Giametti had been a significant earner for years. He'd been one of the first mobsters to figure out that big money could be made bringing in pretty young girls from the former Soviet bloc, especially Russia, Poland, and Czechoslovakia. That was his specialty, and it was the reason Sampson was riding his ass now. His one regret was that Alex couldn't be with him on this bust. This was going to be a sweet takedown.
At a little past midnight, he pulled up in front of Giametti's house. The mobster didn't live too extravagantly, but all his needs were met. That was how the Mafia took care of its own.
Sampson peered into his rearview and saw two more cars ease up against the curb directly behind him. He spoke into a mike sticking out from his shirt collar. 'Good evening, gents. I think this is going to be a fine night. I can feel it in my bones. Let's go wake up the Greaseball.'
Chapter 37
SAMPSON'S PARTNER THESE DAYS was a twenty-eight-year-old detective named Marion Handler, who was almost as big as Sampson was. Handler was certainly no Alex Cross, though. He was currently living with a large- breasted but small-minded cheerleader for the Washington Redskins, and he was looking to make a name for himself in Homicide. 'I'm fast-tracking, dude,' he liked to say to Sampson, without a hint of humor or self- effacement.
Just being around the cocky detective was exhausting, and also depressing. The man was plain stupid; worse, he was arrogant about it, flaunting his frequent logic lapses.
'I'll take the point on this one,' Handler announced as they reached the front porch of Giametti's house. Four other detectives, one holding a battering ram, were already waiting at the door. They looked to Sampson for direction.
'Take the lead? No problem, Marion. Be my guest,' he said to Handler. Then he added, 'First in, first to the morgue.' He spoke to the detective holding the battering ram: 'Take it down! Detective Handler goes in first.'
The front door collapsed in two powerful strikes with the ram. The house alarm system began to wail, and the detectives hurried inside.
Sampson's eyes took in the darkened kitchen. Nobody there. New appliances everywhere. An iPod and CDs scattered on the floor. Kids in the house.
